Famous Last Words
by cardemon
Summary: "So hate me all you want, Granger, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let you forget."


_**Famous Last Words**_

By cardemon

 **This is a one-shot that I have been working on lately while recently dabbling (meaning throwing myself unabashedly) into the world of Dramione. I've been reading a lot of it, and thought I would finally try my hand at writing something!**

 **Please enjoy my first ever Dramione one-shot, and all reviews are welcome!**

He was a damned fool and a bloody coward.

" _Obliviate."_

As the brief flash of betrayal that would haunt him until his last breath crashed over her strained features, Draco pulled her into a grip that was positively crushing and let his gaze fall straight ahead, gritting his teeth as her thrashing body quickly fell limp.

It seemed only fitting that his last words to her were lies – words that she unconvincingly believed to be true. But he could see it, buried in the depths of her eyes – hesitation, reluctance, and most of all, fear. They were foolish to believe that they could be anything more than enemies, two different sides of the same coin, and would forever be damned to face the repercussions of their inability to refuse one another.

But by the gods, he couldn't do that to her.

Hermione Granger was everything that he wasn't; she was brave, intelligent, courageous, loyal – a pristine sculpture carved out of every insecurity he'd ever had about himself. She deserved better, and by the gods, he was going to give it to her.

Draco Malfoy was wholly, unrepentantly, and unchangeably evil.

 _But this would be your punishment,_ a cold voice echoed in his head as he lay her down on the bed with a gentleness he had never shown before. _You deserve to live with the memories of your name on her lips, to be tortured by what once was. You deserve nothing more than her hatred._

He brushed those frustrating curls from her wet lashes, tucking them behind her ear as he swallowed thickly, a plethora of unspoken words bleeding behind his lips. Grabbing a nearby novel from her bedside table, he tucked it under her arm before taking a reluctant step back, the title of the book glaring back at him.

Often, he had made his distaste for her pathetic Muggle romance literature obvious; there was no way that such love existed in their world, or any world for that matter. Such bold declarations and displays of love and heartbreak and betrayal seemed utterly ridiculous to him. It was rubbish, he had said – much to her dismay.

And it was with a bitter irony that Draco lay down next to her one more time, body stiff with longing and shoulders tense with something unnameable that he quickly pushed to the back of his mind as he looked at her as if it were for the last time; for when her eyes would open in the morning, she would be seeing him as she had months before – a thought that made his gut wrench uncomfortably.

When the first rays of light began to force the shadows to the far corners of the room, Draco numbly removed himself from the bed and stood before taking a seat at her cluttered desk. Smoothing out a blank piece of parchment, he watched as the quill scratched over the page, murmuring an incantation before he slipped it into a blank envelope marked with her initials. He folded it once, placed it into his back pocket, and let his gaze linger on her one last time before he disapparated.

 _Hermione Jean Granger,_

 _Your presence is urgently requested at the Ministry of Magic to attend the formal reading of the Last Will and Testament of Draco Lucius Malfoy._

The sound of shattering glass broke the palpable silence that had fallen over the room. Every set of eyes had come to rest on Hermione, who went rigid with shock as the last wisps of the patronus had faded away.

"Blimey," Ron breathed, brows knitted together in confusion. "Why the bloody hell do they want you at the reading?" he asked as Harry quickly stood to help Hermione slowly onto the adjacent couch, her gaze unfocused as she still appeared lost in thought.

"I... I don't know," she managed to say.

"Well… are you going to go?" Ginny asked.

Ron's indignant snort cut through. "What would that slimy git leave you, anyway? Whatever it is, it'll probably be cursed. Wouldn't put it past him to do something like that."

"Ron!" Ginny admonished. "Have some respect for the dead!"

"Respect? For _Malfoy?"_ Ron exclaimed hotly. "You've got to be kidding me! That git tortured us for years, and you want me to show him respect?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed, but it was Harry who spoke.

"As much as want to I agree with Ron, I'm curious as to see why you're needed at the reading." He then turned to Hermione. "I think you should go – especially if the Ministry is asking for you."

Hermione let out a long sigh. "I guess it couldn't hurt," she conceded, standing to her feet.

"Then we're coming with you," Ron interjected. "I still don't trust Malfoy, even if he is dead – and if whatever he leaves you is cursed, then at least we can protect you from it."

Hermione shook her head. Something was telling her that she needed to do this alone. "No, Ron, this is—"

"He's right," Harry interrupted apologetically. "A lot of sympathizers in the war have been known to try and leave cursed objects to family members after the war, so it's only right that we come with you."

Hermione thought for a moment. Harry had a point, and with the wounds of war still so brutally fresh, she decided that it wouldn't be a bad idea to have them accompany her.

Pursing her lips, Hermione agreed. "All right, but please behave yourselves," she cautioned. "This is a reading of someone's will, after all, and I will not have the lot of you besmirching the respect that someone's last reading deserves – even if it _is_ Malfoy."

Ron grumbled and folded his arms across his chest, but stood up nonetheless. Harry gave her a small smile as they each stepped through the floo and to the Ministry of Magic.

It was with great reluctance that Hermione raised her fist and politely knocked on the door of Meeting Room 4A.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione crossed the threshold with heavy trepidation, suddenly very thankful for her two friends as her eyes instantly landed on the cold, hard gaze of Lucius Malfoy, whose contempt was sickeningly palpable. His lips curled back in a sneer as his mouth opened to speak, but a quick hush from his wife prevented anything from coming out.

Narcissa appeared indifferent as the formal reader, a small man in a brown suit with a mess of grey hair and a matching moustache, gestured for Hermione to take a seat. Harry and Ron lingered behind her, which earned a scoff from Lucius. She felt Ron immediately tense, though a harsh whisper of his name from Hermione kept him in place, which earned an unidentifiable look from Narcissa.

"Miss Granger, thank you for joining us," the reader said. "I'm sure you're curious as to why we have summoned you here today."

Hermione nodded. "I was… surprised to receive your patronus."

"Indeed," he replied. "Now, while I have already gone through the main part of the proceedings with Lucius and Narcissa, I must ask you a question before we can continue."

Hermione nodded, brow furrowing in confusion, though she didn't let her gaze dare wander over to Draco's parents, who obviously didn't want her to be here as much as she didn't want to be, either.

"What is your relationship with Draco Malfoy?"

"E-Excuse me?"

The reader cleared his throat. "I asked you what your relationship with Draco Malfoy is, Miss Granger – please keep up."

"I…"

As she fumbled for her words, Harry interjected. "She has no relationship with Malf—Draco," Harry finished.

The reader's annoyed gaze locked onto Harry. "If it please you, Mister Potter, I would like to hear it from Miss Granger herself as to what her relationship was with Mister Malfoy, seeing as I have an envelope here from him that is addressed to her – and only her."

Hermione balked, and couldn't help but let her eyes flicker to Lucius and Narcissa before widening in shock. "I—what? An envelope?"

The reader nodded as he reached within the pocket of the nondescript folder that lay on his desk and pulled out a dirty, crumpled envelope.

"You see, Miss Granger, this letter was found on Mister Malfoy's person the day he died. It is addressed to you, and _only_ you." He then placed it down on the desk and pushed it toward her. "So my question remains, Miss Granger – what is your relationship with Draco Malfoy, and why has he seemingly left this letter to you?"

With shaky hands, Hermione carefully picked up the envelope. Two of the corners were ripped, revealing only a hint as to what was inside – yet despite its poor condition, it remained tightly sealed. She turned it over in her hands, a knot forming in the pits of her stomach as her eyes read over a name – _her_ name – hurriedly scratched onto the front in faded black ink.

It was Ron's voice that broke through the silence. "Why not just—?"

"It's charmed," she suddenly realized in quiet horror. She then looked up, feeling more helpless and confused than she had never felt in her entire life. Why had Draco Malfoy, of all people, left her a letter? And more importantly, why was it charmed?

"Very astute of you, Miss Granger," the reader said, flashing an annoyed glance at Ron. "Yes, that envelope is charmed, and only you can open it."

"But—but, why? Why would he leave this to me?"

"That is something that we are all asking, Miss Granger," Narcissa spoke, and Hermione was momentarily immobilized by the sound of her name coming from the witch's lips.

A thousand more questions raced through her mind, eyes desperately locking onto Narcissa's. "Are you sure that—?"

The older witch nodded solemnly. "We have verified that it is his magical signature."

Leaning back into the chair, Hermione ran a hand through her hair, the other resting in her lap, still clutching the envelope. She felt Harry's comforting hand on her shoulder, but it did little to quell the war going on in her head.

"But… I have no relationship with Draco," she responded softly, blinking as if the words felt foreign coming out of her mouth.

The reader absentmindedly shuffled the contents of the folder. "That letter seems to prove otherwise, Miss Granger," he said. "Whatever is in that letter was meant for your eyes only."

Hermione could only stare at her name on the front of the envelope, and instantly recognized it as being from the same stationary equipment that she had on her desk back in her flat. The word _coincidence_ flitted through her mind, though it seemed too good to be true – there was no way that Malfoy could possess the same basic stationary kit that she did. If anything, his would be adorned with the House of Malfoy crest, and the nature of the paper and ink would be of a much higher quality.

A sudden nagging feeling in the back of her mind alerted her that she needed to read this letter, and read it soon. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, though the sense of urgency was much too potent to ignore.

Hermione then shot to her feet, starling all who were present.

"I… I think it best if we leave now," she said, eyes cast down to the floor as she headed for the door, Harry and Ron immediately at her sides.

"Now wait just a _bloody se—!"_

Hermione hadn't heard the rest of what Lucius had to say, the door slamming shut behind her as she hurried towards the foyer, Harry and Ron desperately calling her name as they followed.

"Hermione!"

"Hermione, _wait!"_

She hadn't realized that she had been running until she reached the grand foyer of the Ministry, her breath coming out in heaving, ragged gasps. However, she didn't wait for the boys to catch up – instead, she threw herself into the nearest floo, stumbling out as the familiar softness of her carpet greeted her feet.

A few seconds later, Harry and Ron came stumbling out of the floo, out of breath.

"Blimey, Hermione! What the bloody hell was that all ab—you still have the _letter?"_

"Wha—?" Hermione panted hard as she realized that Ron was pointing at the envelope that was still clutched tightly in her hand.

He quickly stepped forward and snatched it from her, and she gasped.

"Ron! Give that back!"

Ron turned to her, face drawn into a glare. "You… you're not seriously considering _reading_ this, _are_ you?" he laughed incredulously.

Hermione didn't appreciate the accusatory tone. "It is addressed to _me,_ Ron," she scoffed. "Of course I'm going to read it."

"You can't be serious!" he exclaimed. "It could be bloody cursed for all we know! Hermione – you need to get rid of this right now, and—"

Hermione leapt forward and tried to snatch the envelope from his grasp, but his height gave him the advantage. "Give it to me, Ron," she demanded, holding her hand out.

Ron shook his head. "That git doesn't deserve anything from us, least of all you," he shot back, bringing the letter up to about chest height. Hermione watched in horror as his hands came to grip either side, preparing to rip it in two.

What came next was a bigger shock. A small stinging hex caused him to cry out in pain and drop the letter, and Hermione quickly lunged forward and retrieved it from the floor before he had a chance to react.

"See!" Ron cried. "It _is_ cursed!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The envelope is obviously charmed to respond to me, and _only_ me. Don't you think that Draco's parents would have tried that already?"

"So it's _Draco,_ now?"

She heard Harry sigh impatiently. "Ron, mate, calm _down,_ will you?" Harry persisted, coming to place a hand on the redhead's shoulder before turning to face Hermione.

"Do you have any idea why Malfoy would leave something like this to you?"

Hermione shook her head, thankful for the calmness of his tone. "Believe me, if I knew, I would tell you."

"Well, whatever's in there, it must be worth something if he's gone to that much trouble to magically protect its contents. Are you _sure_ you don't know?"

Again she shook her head, eyes falling to the floor. She didn't want to tell them of the incessant and urgent nagging in the back of her mind that was practically screaming at her to read it, or the overwhelming desire to do so.

"Well then," Ron said impatiently, jutting his chin out. "Get on with it."

Hermione glared at him before turning her attention back to the item in question. Steadying her hands, she took a deep breath, heart pounding in her ears. No one could be sure of what was in the envelope, nor how to protect themselves from it – if Ron's theory were true.

Flicking her thumb underneath the wax seal, it came away with ease, as if it were any other ordinary envelope. She glanced up to Harry and Ron, who both wore expressions of unease. Ron then drew his wand with a nod, and reluctantly, Harry did the same. Swallowing thickly, Hermione reached in, sighing in relief as she pulled a simple piece of paper folded in thirds, letting the envelope drop to the floor.

A heavy silence settled in Hermione's living room.

"Well?" Ron pressed. "What does it say?"

Hermione blinked, the boys watching in unease as her eyes frantically scanned the page. She then looked up to meet their nervous faces.

"It… it's blank."

" _Blank?"_ they both squawked in unison. Before she could answer, Ron snatched the piece of paper from her hand, brows furrowed in confusion.

Hermione couldn't help but see a slight hint of disappointment reflected in Harry's eyes.

"Why is it blank?"

Hermione shrugged at Ron's question that was more of a statement. "Could be a joke," she mused offhandedly, mind reeling.

Ron made a sound of disgust. "Typical git," he said, shoving the paper into Harry's hand, to which he passed it back onto Hermione.

"Is the parchment charmed, too?" Harry then asked. Hermione flipped the paper over and even held it up to the ceiling light, but there was no indication that the paper had ever been used. In fact, it looked like any other ordinary piece of parchment. Taking out her wand, she tapped the paper and recited every revealing spell that she knew, but nothing happened.

Every set of shoulders in the room sagged with a mixture of relief and disappointment. With a long sigh, Hermione ran her free hand over her face and headed toward the kitchen, suddenly feeling very tired. "Would you boys like some tea?"

They both shook their heads, and with that, bid her farewell as they passed through the floo, leaving Hermione in silence once more. The clock on her mantel chimed politely as it hit five in the afternoon, and it was only now that Hermione realized just how emotionally exhausted she was, too. Letting herself collapse into the nearest chair, Hermione let her eyes slip shut.

She was woken up by the sound of the clock chiming as it hit eight in the evening. Looking to her feet, Crookshanks tenderly pawed at her ankle, letting out a small mewl.

"All right, all right," she said with a groan. "I'm coming."

After filling up the kneazle's bowl with a little extra food that stemmed from the guilt of having not fed him on time, Hermione returned to the couch. As she reached for the remote, she realized that the piece of parchment had fallen onto the carpet between the gap of the couch and side table.

Cold terror suddenly washed over Hermione at the parchment, the words now painfully visible upon its otherwise smooth surface – words that weren't there before.

 _You really think I'd let those two read this without my permission?_

Hermione could practically hear his sneer as she read the first sentence, and her hands began to shake as she gripped the paper tightly. Little by little, the rest of the hidden words began to appear, and despite the uneasy feeling in her gut, she kept on reading.

 _I must say, I'm disappointed, Granger. You should know me better than that._

Hermione blinked. She should what?

 _Though I don't suppose you remember much now, and for that, I want to express how deeply sorry I am for putting you in this incredibly difficult position,_ the next line read, as if sensing her train of thought. _But please, if you've managed to get this far and not tear this piece of parchment in two, I implore you to read on._

Swallowing thickly, she continued.

 _I had every intention to do the right thing, but I have said words that I thought I would never speak while awake and unafraid, asleep, or dead. I have done things that will earn my soul eternal damnation, and I cannot take any of it back. But believe me when I say that everything that I said, everything that I did, with you, and for you, I do not regret. I only regret that my last words to you are on a piece of parchment._

Hermione's hands shook even harder.

 _You deserved better than me. You deserved to live in a world free of the scornful stares of those who wouldn't understand us. You deserved more, and I'm just sorry that I couldn't give it to you. But I was not afraid to keep on living, nor was I afraid to walk this world alone if it guaranteed your safety._

This couldn't be… Malfoy was… he was writing as if writing to a lover, she realised with horror that was amplified by the fact that he was writing to _her,_ of all people.

Hermione's knees gave way, and she slowly sank to the floor, hand coming over her mouth. It was as if her eyes had a mind of their own, and she brought the letter closer as she continued on, despite the furious pounding of her heart and the inexplicable knot of dread in the pits of her stomach.

 _But alas, I am not a selfless man. I am an incorrigible fool, arrogant, and most of all, inherently selfish. I cannot rest peacefully while you remain oblivious to what we had. So if you are reading this letter, Granger, then I am most certainly dead, and all of the galleons in the wizarding world cannot express how truly sorry I am that this letter has found its way into your possession._

 _I could never be like you wanted me to be. I am no saviour of the damned, nor am I a righteous man. And why you chose to love me is something that I can never even hope to comprehend._

The words had gone from being neatly written to hurriedly scratched across the parchment; any sense of adherence to a suitable layout was being carelessly thrown into the wind as the words practically flamed across the page, the desperation evident through the hurried scratches of ink.

 _As I write this, I am thoroughly ashamed and disgusted with myself because I want you to remember so badly. I want you to remember how much I cared for you, how much I hated your stubbornness and unshakeable need to help those in need; how much I will miss taking you, wanting you, having you._

 _But most of all, I want you to remember how much I loved you._

Fear reached up into her and seized her soul with an icy claw. Tears she hadn't known that she had shed now stained her cheeks. A quiet sob escaped her lips as she desperately tried to make sense of the words.

He loved her.

Draco Malfoy _loved_ her.

And what's more, he had said that she had loved him in return.

And despite herself, she wanted to remember. The desire was suffocatingly overwhelming, and she desperately wanted to know what had caused him so much pain. But most of all, she wanted to know why he had left her, and why she couldn't _remember anything._

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, Hermione sucked in a shaky breath.

She didn't want to read anymore. The words – so pitiful, so desperate – burned an ache into her chest that was only amplified by her inability to remember. She was frustrated, angry, confused, frightened – though she willed herself to finish the letter, a glimmer of hope simmering in her chest as she prayed that the rest of the letter may give her an insight as to why she couldn't remember.

 _I want you to remember, Hermione_ – she flinched at the sight of her first name – _even if it is too much to bear. Even if the pain and anger and cruelty of what once was and that can never be are too much, even if you curse my name until the day you die, I want you to remember._

The next two words stopped Hermione in her tracks. They appeared to be almost carved into the paper; the ink thick and blotchy, as if he had traced them over and over. She instantly recognised them as Latin words, though they held no recognition. They were just… words.

Clearing her throat, Hermione softly spoke those written words, _**amplexus callide.**_

Suddenly, a bright white light followed by a powerful impact to the side of her skull caused Hermione to double over in pain, hands coming up to clutch the sides of her head as she howled and shrieked; the windows rattling dangerously in their wake. She screamed for what felt hours, wherein only seconds had passed before her eyes shot open with a choked gasp.

And then, she remembered.

As if someone had struck her, everything came crashing through the proverbial wall, flooding every sense, burning every nerve, igniting every cell in her body. It was as if the very fibres of her being were ripped apart and stitched back together again in a blinding wave of fire.

She remembered _him._

She remembered the way he kissed her that night of the Yule Ball. She remembered sneaking into various nooks within Hogwarts, hands unable to stop touching him, the smirks behind his lips as he feverishly sought hers. She remembered the way he used to tease her, and the longing looks he would give her outside of class. She remembered the way he had taken her, the way he lusted after her. She remembered the password to their secret meeting place, _amplexus callide._

But most of all, the remembered the pain. He was suffering, she remembered. Underneath it all, his demons were clawing at him from the inside. She remembered the haunting look in his eyes, the desperation, and the self-loathing. She remembered how much she cried when she saw the Mark, and how he held her as he tried to beg her forgiveness, at how he tried to make her understand.

Hermione Granger remembered how much she loved Draco Malfoy.

She remembered how much she loved him, and how much he loved her in return.

But most of all, she remembered _everything,_ right up until he had obliviated her all those months ago.

And then, the screaming stopped.

Suddenly, Hermione was overcome with the most profound grief she had ever felt in her entire life. It was unbelievably mournful and agitated, like a wound begging to be healed, a soul pleading to be made whole again.

And so, she cried.

Throat ripping and bleeding, Hermione cried harder against the pain. Regretfully, pitifully, painfully, she cried like a child. The ache of her loss burned in chest like white fire, and she thrashed upon the living room floor, hands tearing at her hair, fists slamming onto the carpet, ignoring the pain that ricocheted through her arms.

"You s-selfish… miserable… fucking b- _bastard!"_ she wailed, wild eyes flashing up to the ceiling in rage. "You – you just _c-couldn't_ … you s-said… _why?!"_

All she could do was scream when no answer came. In a blind fury, she reached for the letter, intent on obliterating it when she realized that there were more words.

Through the choked-out sobs, and through all of the anger, pain, hurt and betrayal, Hermione continued to read.

 _I will admit that I am a damn fool and a coward, and there is nothing I can say or do to change that. And as selfish as it was, I couldn't bear to let you wander this world having forgotten about me – about us. So hate me all you want, Granger, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let you forget._

 _Always,_

 _Draco Malfoy_


End file.
